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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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JU ANITA: 



:XHK STOI<Y OF 



Swky ^ton\ Soiree. 



BY ROSS LYNDON 

A REFORMED COWBOY. 



COPYBIGHTEn 
1894. 



JU ANITA: 



:XME STOI^'r OK:- 



Sw^y S^i'oii) Soirie. 



BY ROSS LYNDON' 



A REFORMED COWBOY. 






PREFACE. 



It has been said that poetry needs no preface. If it doe 
speak for itself, then no comment can render it explicit. To 
the old proverb: "Good wine needs no bush." How about log\ 
If my Pegasus be thought somewhat free for these very n 
days, I can only say that at times I have found him too wild to 
stride, and yielding only to the persuasive influence of the riata i 
a pair of heavy Mexican rowels. Besides I have used the precp'"^ 
to take out a (poetical) license for the animal, duly signed a 
tested by that High Mucky muck of the f/enus irritabile, great A 

Denver, Colorado, December 22, 1893. R. 






JUANITA. 



A Highland lass I sing, Juanita hight; 

But ere across the strings of my old gourd 
The bow I draw, I claim the poet's right, 

And ded'cate these lines to him hath soar'd 
Above all others in his chosen walk, 
Lord Byron, who rhymed well mere table talk. 

II. 

For what else is Don Juan? Yet methinks 
The self-same poet says: ''Genius is gin," 

In that case push the can, 'twill take the kinks 
Out of one's mind, and put afflatus in. 

Thy benison, Boccaccio, on me pour. 

In this attempt the feminine mind t' explore. 



If that mysterious bundle of small deceit 
Can be said to have one — yet must I admire 

Th' astonishing art that can emergence meet 
With sm ling front, evasion them mspire! 

Still do th ' grjin their point by tears and teasing, 

And intuition serves instead of reason. 



IV. 

A shallow stream, and yet there's quicksands in it, 
F'oibear to launch, unless you know the channel 

Flou ing so tranqil now — and yet next minute 
There may not of your boat be left a panel. 

They can be angels and may sink so low, 

That to get deeper, vile man has no show! 

V. 

Sans judgment, logic, still they hesitate not 
To pass on matters of the weightiest sort. 

On love and destiny how deep their thought! 
And yet so easily swayed by men's report. 

But sweet the electric glance of woman's eyes, 

Since the first gales blew over paradise! 

VI. 

God help us now we've given them the right 
To vote, Mumm's Extra Dry they'll interdict. 

Some Worth we may expect — unhappy sight — 
To be our Czar — View suffering Kansas trick'd 

Of prosperousness by this (and prohibition), 

Rose-in-the mud, mouse-fearing politician! 

VII. 

But to my tale — The fair Juanita lived 

In a modest cottage that o'erlooked the Platte. 

A maid of sixteen summers, late bereaved 
Of her dear mother, and the gay world that 

Had looked so lovely, now all lonel\ seemed. 

And different from what she had fond y dreamed. 



VIII. 

Ah! much does earthly happiness depend 

On kindred ties, yet little we suspect [friend 

That should death's waves bear from us some dear 
How soon the vessel of our hopes were wrecked, 

— O'er all the dreary scene the cactus grows. 

Where late did bloom the lily and wild rose. 

IX. 

So in the face of my beauteous heroine, 

These two flowers struggled for the mastery,; 

No prettier lass in Denver might be seen. 

Her's was the brunette type (no blonde for me), 

Of medium height, and f )r her shape, oh Venus! 

How thy mouth would have watered, old Silenus! 



She was her uncle's pet; one day he said, 

(Though rather brusquely, for he loved to tease), 

'C<»me hither, girl; what's in thy winsome head? 
Wont tell? Well, blessings on thee, my sweet niece! 

You're all right, even to the very feather 

In your hat — only keep your knees together." 

XI. 

Ah well for her had she but taken to heart 
The kind advice of thf well-meaning granger, 

And well for all those fr^il ones, ere they part 
With prudence to seek dalliance with a stranger. 

Sure if one of those little things I carried, 

I'd keep it to myself until I married. 



Xll. 

Juanita, who, 'til now, the paternal roof 

Had always sheltered, caring naught to roam, 

Began to have ambitious thoughts; a proof 
That she chafed under the restraints of home. 

It was no more congenial, since another 

Had come to share it with her — a. step-mother. 

xiii. 

In fancy had she trod this mortal stage 
Full many a time, and acted glorious parts. 

Brightly the footlights gleamed; her tender age 
Did not prevent her being the Queen of Hearts. 

In some romantic wild, by moonlit sea, 

That's conjured up by maidens, **fancy free." 

xiv. 

To this end she'd resolved upon a lark, 

All in a nice, quiet way, of course. So when 

One day there came a note from city spark, 
Asking the pleasure of her company again. 

(He was an old admirer) to a dance, 

By return mail his modest wish she grants. 

XV. 

O waltz, procuress of love's sweetest pleasures. 
That lulls into rt^pose the fair one's bosom, 
As they tread on waxen floors voluptu 'ij«; measures; 
Forgetting their chastities until they lose 'm. 
"The breast thus publicly resi^^ned to mm. 
In private may resist him— if it can " 



XVI. 

The evening of the ball at last came round, 
Juanita danced, admired by all beholders. 

Graceful she polkaed, and in schottische shone, 
Envifd by all the tribe that bare their shoulders. 

To men's ^aze; a trick to make them amorous. 

Perchance.seeing ^//,they would not be so clamorous 

xvii. 

Old Burton mentions in his book, a clan 
Of soldiery, stationed long since at a post, 

Where "wild in woods the naked savage ran," 
The unclad females passed among the host, 

Who soon grew 'customed to the sight. Absurd 

As it may sound to us, rapes ne'er occured. 

xviii. 

So have I seen a "walker," Sloppy Joe," 

Who plies in Denver streets her nightly trade; 

To her and the keg-draining bum, a foe 

Is daylight, for what havoc time has made. 

It shows too clearly; so the one ne'er visits 

His mates 'til twilight comes; nor the other solicits. 

xix. 

But what I wished of this "soiled dove" to say. 
She's dressed in black, the courtezan's shibboleth, 

But of a rloth so old and thin, one may 
See easily thro' it, a'd what lies beneath 

HfT jersey soiled, and ; eneral slovenly way, 

Have earned for her this peculiar sobriquet. 



XX. 

Grass-widows mingled in the dancing crew, 
'Tis a product of our modem civilization 

That's on the increase; they're watching out anew 
For other mates in the sea of dissipation. 

So dainty, sweet, to masculine heart's confusion — 

But seeing them eat destroys half the illusion. 

xxi. 

Old maids were rsnged around, a goodly store, 
Poor things, you'll always see them at these places. 

Their stale virginities attract no more, 

For what the fickle world likes is new faces. 

And "hashers," too, here met in equal station. 

Though ill-disguised their greasy occupation. 

xxii. 

And present to the "guy" who always calls 

For ^'something quick and devilish, you know," 

Some reel or quickstep of the old-time balls 
Our o-andsires went to. What a holy show 

Would they seem now; knee breeches, powdered hair, 

Would fail to captivate our modern fair. 

xxiii. 

But this back number knows no better, he 
The story of his younger days relates, 

What "fun and vinegar." et cetera. 

He passed through, "afore I left the States," 

To wall flower friend, who finds in turn his tongue, 

And thus they'll chin 'til the last dog is hung. 



XXIV. 

To supper now our dat^cers all adjourned. 

Juanita's cheeks were flashed, she had enjoyed 
Herself immensely, but her spirits yearned 

For something else, when was joy unalloyed? 
B^in^ naturally passionate, worked up by the dance, 
She was now ripe for anything might chance. 

XXV. 

Ah happy yielding time! if youths but knew 
How seld'm that rich opportunity, it would 

N )t piss unprofited. when open threw 

The nympth fier char ns,her hot blood in the mood 

They dream of love with the first days of summer, 

Then to them boys, when they're in a yielding humor. 

xxvi. 

Juanita's gallant, thoutih, was all too tame 
The conquest to attempt, girls rightly hate 

Such milksops, the Y. M. C. A's fit game, 

Who'd scarcely touch, if brought them on a plate. 

Yet who disdain not (read it in their eyes) 

'I he "Portugee pump's" gentle exercise. 

xxvii. 

Juanita's mother had a Spaniard been, 

Born in that Southern land, where, as they tell us, 
The women are so pretty, and the men 

Such u^ly brutes (no wonder then they're jealous.) 
Yet deem her not thence fragile, easily won, 
For well that mother had her duty done. 



XXVlll. 

To make her virtuous she all arts did use, 
Which matrons know so well how to employ. 
''Men were to ask, and women them refuse." 
I wonder were our grandmothers so coy. 
Yet some of their slips have been handed down 
To modern days, however they may frown. 

xxix. 

Whence it appears they granted certain things 

To consummation very near related, 
(Or else it's only one of Dame Rumor's flings) 

Before the marriage rites were celebrated. 
When two went walking neath the harvest moon; 
And round her waist one arm went stealing soon. 

XXX. 

His restless fingers working where she lived, [doing!" 
"Oh George, "she moans,you don't know what you're 
But why need I go on; you're not deceived 

In thinking George gets that for which he's suing. 
And "Stolen Sweets" have always been in fashion 
Smce Eve and Adam first gave way to passion. 

xxxi. 

But neverless the "gay and giddy" fair 
To sport an angel's wrapper are inclined, 

When in swift time they seem to glide on air. 
The "figures forming, in and out they wind." 

Praying the dehcious hours to move more slow 

And tingling with delight at the flying fiddle-bow! 



XXXll. 



Ah, then is heard the muttred innuendo 
Anent the person dancing with a rival, 
RisiHij above the violin's soft crescendo, 
"The shameless little minx! Thatbiundenng devil! 
When as some swain has stepped upon a trail 
Costing per yard, 'steen dollars at retail. 



xxxin. 



The fun was kept up 'til quite a late hour, 
(Early is the more prober word, perhaps). 

The tired Tuanitd for home took the car, 

It was the "owl train" that the Tramway chaps 

Reserve for such revellers, and the "sports. 

Whom late play has detained at the resorts. 



xxxiv. 



Her crallant at the gate dismissed, she rang 

The door-bell, hav-mg no night key of h-r own. 

Wnich fact to note does give me many a pang, 
Since sad experience well its use h^^.^f.^?,^';. , , 

To gilded youth; though when by "Phillip blinded, 

The key hole being bald, they tail to find it. 



XXXV. 



Tuanita rang, as I was saying, when 

Uprose the step-dame from her nice warm bed 
Beside her liege, though mad as a wet hen 

To be so rudely roused; and as she sped. 
Her mind was fullv m -de up, without boasting, 
That she would give Juanita a good roasting. 



XXXVl. 



For staying out so late. Opening the door, 
The **sacred rag" she 'gan to masticate: 
"This is a pretty time of night, for sure, [straight 
To be coming home in, Miss. Now you march 
Inside. Fine company you have found. 
No better than they should be, I'll be bound." 

xxxvii. 

Thus the tirade went on. Juanita stood 
It just as long as possibly she might. 

With blazing eyes, until, in sullen mood, 

She heard: "Begone! here vou have no more right." 

Sudden she turned on her tormentor, cast 

A look of supreme scorn, then outward passed. 

xxxviii. 

Slamming the door behind her. Nevermore 
She hoped, would its portals echo to her tread. 

O, pitiful! to be driven from the shore 
Of refuge, pilotless to cast her lead 

In unpathed waters — breakers on her bows — 

All inexperienced sailor as she was. 

xxxix. 

Oh would our fond parents might remember 
That they were young themselves once, played 
the same 

Wild pranks that now they chide, ere chill December 
Had broken up their interest in the game. 

The smiling May that once they frolicked with, 

They really think it must havebeen a myth. 



xl. 

Juanita banished, paused a moment ere [boiled 

She bent her course down street. How her blood 

To think how mean she had been treated where 
Kmdness had reigned, though now by step-dame 
foiled. 

And set her wits at work to find a way 

Of lodging with some friend until next day. 

xli. 

At last she hit upon a "ladi-fren," 

She thought would suit,one quiet and discreet, 
Who would be glad to have her come and spend 

The night with her, and who would kindly greet 
Her,share her sorrovvs,though the cup was brimming; 
They can do nothing by themselves— the women. 

xlii. 

No sooner said than done; she forthwith hied 
Hc-rself to the friend's residence, situated 

Not far from Seamon's Gardens, where the pride 
Of summer "mashers" nightly congregated; 

The counter-jumpers, that diversion seek, 

And try to lead fast lives on their five-a-week. 

xliii. 

The mansion soon was reached. Juanita knocked 
And was admitted without ceremony. 

Then followed a fond meeting; the girls talked 
Until near morn, Juanita's dearest crony 

She was, beside her that same night had danced, 

So lost her **beauty sleep" also, it chanced. 



xliv. 

But slumber and the night's fatigues at last 
0'eicoi..e the friends. Juanita quickly dropt 

Into the arms of Morpheus — lucky gucst: 
He comes unbidden, but is never stopt 

What fair forms has he pressed, most tempting fruit — 

That is, when no one else was there to do it. 

xlv. 

Next day her friend, whom we'll call Daisy for 
The present, pressed on hrr so hard to stay 

Until such time, at least, that she had more 
Assistance of the future, come what may. 
"She had a friend in Daise, kind as a mother," 

Whereat the girls most heartily hugged each other. 

xlvi. 

Juanita did not need much urging, she. 

In secret hoped to hear from "father" soon. 

With overtures for her return. If he 

Would only take her part as he had done, 

She knew that ere long her he'd reinstate; 

But the overtures came not until too late. 

xlvii. 

Now Daisy had a cousin come to see her, 

Named Clarence; a "Chicargo-bred" young gent. 

Whose tout ensamble smacked somewhat of beer, 
And other graces by the Midway lent. 

His flashy speech eked out by stock-pit saws, 

A lady-killer irom the heart he was. 



xlviii. 



He saw Juanita, marked her for his prey, 

For though he never professed to be a sage, he 

Failed to see how she could resist that way 

Of his, so knowing, traveled, spruce and cagy. 

And masking his design with gay deceit, 

He laid a pitfall for her tender feet. 

xlix. 

Meanwhile the girls went shopping, chaperon'd 
By Clarence, not that they did really need 

A body-guard, but that they found 

Him handy to bear lingerie in the street. 

And following out the idea, as it good were 

Ladies oft hang a man's coat in their boudoir. 

1. 

To frighten burglars from their aim. A case of 
Lu V e stoops to conquer,'twas with Clarence though 

Albeit he had come within an ace of 

Throwin- uo the job already, as being too slow 

A way to win Juanita's favor, 'til 

At last came the opportunity in a mill- 

li. 
Inery shop for which he long had sighed. 

The ^oods were being sold out by the sheritl. 
In the show-window looking. Nita spied 

Something she wanted, no less thad a pair ot 
Fr nch opera stockings. Lisle thread warranted: 
And, knowing her slender purse, to Clarence said: 



Hi. 

*'I wish some one would be so kind as to buy 

Those hose for me," indicating which she meant. 
They were alone; Daisy had gone to try 

Her luck inside, responding to the hmt, 
Clarence replied: "A present you I'll make them, 
On one condition only, if you'll take them." 



"And what conditions that?" Juanita said. 

"That you will let me put them on,no more." [sped, 
" *Tis done!" though when the thoughtless words h we 
And plotting Clarence vanished through the door, 
Juanita half regretted giving a handle. 
However slight, that might be worked by scandal. 

liv. 

To th' prejudice of her fame. She was noprude, 
To their false modesty was a total stranger 

Who, shuddering, hands up, would fig-leaf the nude 
In art, still skittish where there is no danger. 

Reminding me of the answer tne traveler got 

When, he asked the Arkansan why he never "sot ' 

Iv. 

His gals at work diggin taters. "Well," drawled he. 

"Taters got eyes, and my darters hev no " 

The sweet swamp angel! innocent is she, 

Her mother dares not trust her out of doors. 

She can "tail" and "crib" with any native blackey, 

But will part with virtue rather than want' 'terbaccy." 



Ivi. 

The hose were purchased, Clarence arguing 

* That was all right," though in her heart the grant- 
Ee would have liked to back out of her bargain. 

But Clarence, "solemn oath and covenant," 
That he would tell no one, not even Daisy 
About it, made her feel the less uneasy. 

Ivii. 

And woman-like, beside, she rather hated 
To own herself in the wrong; felt confident 

That in the end his ruse would be defeated. — 
One thing she vowed, no improper liberties went. 

In pride of purity high as the Infanta; 

What happened her you'll learn in the next canto. 



JUANIXA; 

CANTO II. 



Around me are the Plains. Far-sweeping wold, 

First looked on, seeming wild as an Indian's dream 
Might fancy think that here Old Ocean rolled, 

And the green rises frozen billows deem. 
Here sylvan islands, beauteous flowers are found, 
And gathering winds declare the Cyclone's stamp- 
ing-ground! 

II. 

Unroll time's map, to that November morn 
Some eight decades ago, when a little band 

Of Regulars, in overalls forlorn , 

Exploring came, by Government command. 

The ''pungent, strange perfume of Desert sage" 

Was wafted to them; in in great Nature's page 

III. 

They read new wonders with the living eye; 

When — thrilling sight! the glorious Rockies burst 
Into their view, the hoary summit high 

Named after Pike, of land marks it the first 
To guide the early pilgrim, and the line 
That ''bull-whacked" through in days of "Fifty-nine. 

IV. 

The adventurous train toiled on; what dismal luck. 
Mid-winter wandering through the trackless waste 

They had, you'll find recorded in Pike's Book. — 
The hasty burial, all signs effaced 

By friends, to guard from timber- wolves' sharp teeth 

The dead — their winding-sheet the white snow-wreath. 



V. 

Ill-fated Pioneers! that lofty Range 

Called by tht Spanish settlers of those parts 

Sangre de Cristo— some of these brave hearts 
Holds in its icy embrace; the Last Change 

Awaiting with God-given patience meek, 

When the summons dread shall peal from peak to peak. 

VI. 

But banish all such mournful thoughts as these 
When in the saddle for a long day's ride: 

What pleasure, as your favorite fans the breeze 
O'er ''reach" and mesa, by Sweetwater's side! 

Yet warily go when nearing a dog-town. 

Lest horse and rider both go headlong down. 

VII. 

The prairie-dog — vile, stocky little beast! 

He holds by right of squatter sovereignty; 
Among the blue-stem and the buffalo-twist, 

His watch-towers rise; from which his roving eye 
Discerns the traveller, doubting his good intention, 
He quickly dives in his subterranean mansion 

VIII. * 

With a shrill bark of defiance, punctuated 
By tail-shakes, many as he has time to give. 

Right well is he by all the ranchmen hated. 
Who say that without water he can live 

For months, — yet marvel not my reader dear — 

Some topers have done without for a year. 



IX. 



Yet are they changed— the Plains. Long bands of steel 
Now cross the broad savannahs, that of old 

Echoed to thunder-tread of Bison; hill 

And vale were peopled in the rush for gold. 

And thriving towns now stand (with some on paper) 

Where the Ute's wicky-up once exhaled blue vapor. 



But I have loved them. On my fleet mustang 
In joy careered o'er the smooth-turfed prairie, 

Far from the haunts of man — nor felt a pang 
In the solitude. It was a land of Faery 

To me, the Meadow-lark its minstrel sweet, 

Still carolling the morn; the noontide heat 

xi. 

May not subdue his untaught melody. 

The joy of living nature has endowed 
Her creatures with, he tells most thrillingly. 

Of penetrating timbre, rich and loud, 
How throb the notes in the thin atmosphere! 
He feels the electric spark who listens near. 

xii. 

Time has been, I have traversed all the West 
In my chosen occupation, — cowboy, scout, — 

Each had its turn. The spirit of unrest 

Was dominant then — the fever that will out 

Among young 'bloods," of manhood's dawn apprised, 

And drives them on 'til it be exorcised. 



Xlll. 

Wrapped in my blanket I have watched the stars 

Gleam frostily in the Montana sky, 
Beside the Yellowstone, where only jars 
On silence deep the panther's wailing cry. 
— Have plied the Round-up in the Big Horn Valley, 
Where gallant Custer made his famed ''Last Rally.'* 

xiv. 

Some short weeks post, found myself in Durango, 
With Fred my "pard" — old Comrades there to 
greet us. 

We shot out lights, mixed in the mad fandango. 
And danced with the pretty, black-eyed senoritas. 

Though masked their features by the reboza, 

Love's lightning flashes through, as if to show 

XV. 

How ill-protected is man's tinder heart 

From their lustrous orbs, by such a gauzy thing 

That fans desire; we seek with ready art 
To complete the romance of the evening. 

For scowl of rival Mexican, who cared? — 

Though his poignard would slip to us — if it dared. 

xvi. 

Next morning, miles away, our cavalcade 
Were trooping by the sullen Rio Grande, 

Wild, fearless, free, by roving careless made. 
A manly crowd! — perhaps a shade too handy 

With the six-shooter when their "tamarack's on," 
(And the brand that they throw sticks,) yet to be won 



XVll. 



With kind words always, I have one in mind 
(Referring to my pard) for years the darling 
Rider of the Trail— none better of his kind 

Has ever donn'd the "chaps," or roped a yearling. 
Viewed on his flying bronk'— the bridle reins 
Firm grasped — you saw, a Centaur of the Plains! 

xviii. 

And he was on the level. This is plain 

From what once came under my observation: 

The pair of us had landed in Cheyenne 

One stormy night, just come from out the Nation. 

'Twas bitter-cold; the bleak wind blew the snow 

In flurries through the streets; I was not slow 

XIX. 

In hastening to our rooms,~but Fred preferred 

To saunter on, and finish his cigar. 
He turned the corner, when a voice he heard 

At his elbow, in tones soft as the guitar:— 
''Kind sir, you seem a gentleman by your dress. 
Have pity on a poor girl in distress. 

XX. 

"I've walked these streets for hours— and this thin 
gown 
Is no defence against the cruel cold; 
When I've asked alms, the passers-by would frown 

At me, as being one of those who've sold 
Their virtue — yet God knows I'm innocent, 
'Tis my misfortune only"— and she leant 



XXI. 

Her slight form 'gainst my pard's, and sobbed the rest: 

"You look so kind, I feel that I can trust 
Myself with you — O, find some sheltering nest 

For me, where warmth and food are, these I must 
Have. Now please don't refuse — this help afford 
And you may stay with me for your reward." 

xxii. 

And blushing deep, her lovely face she hid 

While waiting for Fred's answer. Soon it came: 
"Of Beauty in distress, it shan't be said 

I ever took advantage, on him shame 
That would. — Here, Miss, this Eagle pray accept.'* 
She took it with a thousand thanks; it kept 

xxiii. 

Her honor spotless, and relieved her "tight." 
She lives a happy wife and mother now, 

And honored, too — though memory of that night 

Will sometimes bring a shadow to her brow; 
-The grateful tear unnoticed fall again. 

For the generous fellow who preserved her then. 

xxiv. 

But what of Nita, have I then forgot 

To urge my Queen down Life's toboggan slide? 

Ah, no — but from my distant, former lot 

When winds of Memory blow, deep swells the tide 

Of feeling o'er the shingle; if "gray matter" 

May be thus styled — the metaphor don't flatter. 



XXV. 



A pretty fix I left her in, you say; 

Well, rather — yet not one inextricable, 
And woman's wit, as usual, won the day. 

She went to Clarence, with some little fable, 
Procured the hose — her purpose he ne'er guessed — 
And then a perforator did the rest. 

xxvi. 

To him they shortly after were returned, 

Apparently unchanged — but, narrowly scanned, 

The keen eye de la femme might have discerned 
A number of small holes, near where the hand 

Would naturally take hold to draw them on; — 

Disruption threatened now, if this were done. 

xxvii. 

The hour arrived, when she had pledged to pay, 
And with it Clarence, to exact his "pound 

Of flesh" — no, not so much to bear away 

He wanted, less would have his wishes crowned. 

When in a certain posture, 'twas his plan 

To throw her off her centre; the divan 

xxviii. 

Would have prevented injury, and then- 



Yes, and then — honi soit qui maly pense^ 
To bring the foe to terms had easy been. 

One shot below the ravelin — ^-the defence 
Would give up garrison. Weak, orthodox 
Man's chief end seems, to opePandora's box. 



XXIX. 

That queer contrivance of the Middle Ages, 
"The '^Virgin's Safeguard," made to snugly fit 

This *'box of troubles," — padlocked too, that pages 
And others were debarred — argues small wit 

In the then-gallants, easy to trepan; 

'Twould not have baffled an American. 

XXX. 

Quick witted race, fertile in deep-laid scheme! 
— My gentle reader, picture to yourself 
Juanita seated, — in creme de le creme 

Of the latest fashions, Clarence with an elf — 
Her tiny foot — compressed the ancle nigh — 
Man's hand before had never been so high. 

xxxi. 

The unexpected happened — comical 

The mishap following a too vigorous pull, 

That laid our Clarence sprawling; in his fall 
He bore part of his purchase, — and some tulle 

Came also, — though not meaning to be rude, 

He reached a little farther than he should. 

xxxii. 

With feigned surprise, Juanita quickly took 

The other stocking, drew it partly on. 
When, lo, it ripped, just as the first had done. 

"Whoever saw such rotten goods?" She broke 
The painful silence with, "Now you can't say 
I kept not faith, — so sorry, but — good-day!" 



XXXlll. 

So exit Clarence. Harold steps upon the stage, 
The heavy villain of this Melodrame; 

Now in the summer of Life's pilgrimage. — 

Gay Harold, at whose birth the sparrows came, 

And danced in amorous duets all the day, 

While the cock-robin sang a roundelay. 

xxxiv. 

Cassandras they, foretelling his success. 

In the warfare he should wage against the sex. 

Nature had given him a handsome face. 

Brown hair and ditto eyes. Thereto annex 

A curling black mustache; a frame well-knit 

And personable; — manly grace to fit 

xxxv. 

A gallant carriage; manners of the kind 
That harmonize with feminine delicacy. 

So easy, deferential and refined; 

His linen always spotless (in their eye 

No mean essential) — and you have engraved 

One over whom the ladies fairly raved. 

xxxvi. 

That promises attract them; would you use 
The subtlest flattery, like what they wish well. 

Persist — what they yield and what they refuse. 
Still are they glad to be asked for; to dispel 

The ice of new acquaintance, the contact 

Of persons always serves — which don't neglect. 



XXXVll. 

Coarse-fibered souls the creature comforts lure: 
Lull the suspicion of the blue-eyed Swede 

With cake and brandy, she's apt to '"tank youre 
A-tryin' to do her" else; but oh, to speed 

Thy suit with the Yellow Girl, that fragrant blossom, 

Lif up her spirit with chitlings and possum! 

xxxviii. 

These hints experience had him taught, and Ovid, 

Successful master in the art of love. 
Tis said of kissing, no one is above it; 

But this is by-the-by. Past triumphs move 
The sex's curiousness, — like the luck-penny, 
They still draw others. Harold's had been many. 

xxxix. 

He met Juanita — how? by "personal." 

Oh, be not shocked, conventional dames, at this 

Irregular proceeding: the leaves fall 

In Autumn, Nature's law obeying, Miss 

Juanita also fell — a victim to 

Mercurial spirits; pined for something new. 

xl. 

And Daisy, running her eye through the ads, 

Found one entirely eligible accord- 
ing to her standard, thus aloud she reads: — 

"Acquaintance wanted, by an English Lord, 
Of a refined brunette— -none but adults; 
Object, a jolly good time, and — results. 



xli. 

'Twas Harold's coinage. Daisy was a blonde, 
But she resolved to answer just the same. 

What did her coloring matter? the beau monde 
Told her she was good-looking. Common fame 

Extolled her lineage. Nita, nothing loath, 

Joins in her wish, so she replies for both. 

xlii. 

Soon they receive a gentlemanly note, 

Asking the favor of an early date. 
'Twas granted, — Martine's the appointed spot. 

A sign was given, to prevent mistake. 
The friends arranging, Nita first should meet 
Him. then each for his preference compete. 

xliii. 

That evening found our heroine arrayed 

In conquering robes — don't ask me what she wore; 
If you must know, this vision is portrayed: 

A lake of rhine-stones; on the silken shore 
Are paradise aigrettes, brown satin roses; 
Green velvet are the hills; the land discloses 

xliv. 

Mountains of jet, and glittering cabachons. 
Cascades of accordion plaiting; at their base, 

Begirt with spangles, a fair river runs, 

Reflecting clouds of chiffon and point-lace. 

■Kodak these things in miniature, ere you've lost 'em. 

And you'll have some idea of her costume. 



xlv. 

Harold, entranced at so much loveliness. 

Scarce found his tongue — but this fault was redeem'd 
By his eloquent eyes. Soon both were at their ease, 

And chatting like old friends. The next "set" 
claimed 
Them partners, Nita tripping with our *'peer" 
To an air she loved — the Spanish Cavalier. 

xlvi. 

Being a true fin de siecle girl 

She must know everything; and Harold's ruse 
Was shortly unmasked, putting him in peril 

Of losing what he'd gained. He own'd his use 
Of Truth economical — a case of battery — 
And glossed it over with judicious flattery. 

xlvii. 

Such favorable impression had he made, 

To mollify was easy. Nita failed 
To speak for Daisy, as had been agreed; 

By perfidy, alas, so strong assailed. 
Somehow she felt, to Harold tender grown. 
As if she wanted him for hers alone. 

xlviii. 

And she was humored. At the partmg hour. 
The Beach was named as their next rendezvous; 

They separated, soon to meet once more. 
Harold's suggestion of a moonlight row 

Was instantly approved. From crowds withdrawn 

Their light skiff o'er Sloan's glassy wave speeds on. 



xlix. 

The night was beautiful. Twinkling o'erhead 
Shown half the convex-world; the Dipper bright, 

And Jupiter, with the Constellations shed 

Through all Manhattan's walks their dreamy light. 

The Launch's merry crew, — with song and shout 

Of the light-hearted rowers ringing out 

1. 

Across the waters still; mingling with these 

The sweet strains of the band, combined to form 

A butterfly existence. In deep peace 

With the whole world felt Nita, let it storm 

As't might, an unseen visitant working in her 

The wondrous change. — First Love, the little sinner! 

li. 

, Ah, blissful period! when his radiant torch 
Lights up the unknown region of the soul: 

The far-off Glory-land looms nigh, where march 
Hope's shadowy legions to their rosy goal. 

Time disillusions Youth — the prospects gone, 

No more to enchant as the years roll on. 

Hi. 

No Quaker meeting held they, our fond pair; 

Found much to talk of in the interchange 
Of confidences, while the wine-like air 

Diffused abandon, blowingfrom the Range. 
Far from the arc light's glare their boat had drifted 
When — how it came about those who are gifted 



liii. 

In hypnotism answer, — Luna saw 'm 

Juanita's head pillowed on Harold's breast! 

Her swimming eyes aud half-breathed sighs avow 
Her conquerer, — and silence tells the rest. 

The moments pass. — 

Upspringing with a start 

From his embrace, the blushing maid, her heart 

liv. 

Alarmed at the hour's lateness, in soft tones 

Regretfully declares they must return 
To shore — if he would be so kind — at once. 

And shivering prettily, her seat in the stern 
Resumes. Harold obeys. Soon on the strand 
The boat's keel grates, permitting them to land. 

Iv. 

'Twas ended all too soon, the walk that followed. * 
Constrained to say good-bye, Nita recalled 

All that of Love the witching hours had hallowed, 
But 'tis a world of partings. — Shakespere's told 

Of Juliet's "sweet sorrow" in this strait. 

Whose yearning soul had but one night to wait. 

Ivi. 

Most sad transition! with the morrow came 

Our heroine's paternal; he had heaid 
Reports (though false we know) wherein to blame 

She was for sundry'lapses; hence inferred 
She needed governing. In fashion grim. 
Peremptory, he took her back with him. 



ivii. 

Resistance had she made, but to what end? — 

Her ally Daisy had resentful grown, 
Being tricked out of her fellow. Other friend 

Or resource that might have assistance shown, 
She could not count on, save one diamond, — that 
Had since gone to "My Uncle's" as collat. 

Iviii. 

Ihus the wherewithal, which paid for the ball-dress 
Before described. — What sacrifice too great 

For girlish vanity! That Loveliness 

When unadorned's adorned the most, they state 

Is a poetic fiction, not obeyed, for [played for! 

'Tis known Diamonds are trumps when hearts are 

lix. 

My Muse shame-faced the sequel now pursues: 
On Nita's home-arrival, she was locked 

Up in her room, to meditate in close 

Confinement solitary; and her diet docked 

Of nearly everything but bread-and-water: 

So thought the old gent to subdue his daughter. 

Ix. 

For she had shown some spirit (who would not. 

So cavalierly treated) this would pass 
Off though, — so deemed he, when repentance brought 

Its sense of duty. Next, at early Mass — 
A devout Catholic — he asked the priest 
To call next day. Confession at the least 



Ixi. 

Could do no harm. This self-same father bore 

A jovial, not a saintly character; 
Revered a monk — but loved good-living more. 

A certain pastime, A. P. A's aver, 
He held required by man's constitution, 
(Who must, of course, have proper absolution.) 

Ixii. 

O Venery, thou nipping incitation! — 

As Montaigue has it; love's thirst to appease, 

We see around us striving all creation. 
Does thy power over mortals ever cease? 

Say, crone of seventy. — This her reply: — 
'You'll have to ask some one older than I." 

Ixiii. 

Meanwhile the prisoner, of whom we've carolled, 
Found durance irksome, slow-coach that time was; 

She thought of many things, but mainly Harold. 
A knock — in came the priest, all smiles. A pause 

Then— "How does Miss Juanita, our fine dancer?" 

'Quite well, I thank you," came the polite answer. 

Ixiv. 

She knew the father slightly — though the Church 
Claimed few of her regards, its mummeries 

Revolting an ingenuous mind. The search- 
Light of Young independence sorely tries 

Religion. But while we're digressional, 

The priest is busy at confessional. 



Ixv. 

Juanita's lips were sealed — a rare mishap. 

He tactics changed, unscrupulous in his dealings; 
With forceful arms he drew her on his lap, — 

Presumably, to analyze her feelings. 
*Hovv dare you, sir!" she cried, with cheeks aflame, 
Strui^gling to free herself "Father, for shame!" 

Ixvi. 

The bird hath scaped! — the father's pursiness 
Contributing to his defeat, else she had not 

Got off so eas. . The fault to redress, 
He made profuse apologies, besought 

Her not to tell — it would the Virgin grieve; 

Which promise, when obtained, he took his leave. 

Ixvii. 

One good effect his visit had, the "powers" 
R "'axed severity; the Reverend's using 

His influence to that end (the reason's ours). 
She might have company — of other's choosing. 

They said,— though this of the"dusky gemman"savored; 

There was a suitor whom the old folks favored. 

Ixviii. 

A miner — , he had struck it rich in Creede, 

Where his home was; but the old Campaigner tired 

Of Bachelor's Hall — Lar and Penates need 
A woman to look after them. He, fired 

With Nita's beauty, wished her for his mate, 

But she, alas, did not reciprocate. 



Ixix. 

He was not pretty, this old family-friend, 
His scarred face lilac'd as the poodle-dog's; 

With anchor-toil his massive frame was bent; 

A voice that might have pierced the briny's fogs. 

Good-hearted, though; to Nita presents sent, 
And though repulsed would never take the hint. 

Ixx. 

He called again — this time prepared to win 
Or quit the field. A private audience 

Securing with his lady-love (who'd been 
Warned not to say him nay), he the events 

Recounted of a chequered past, wherein 

The vicissitudes of a miner's life were seen. 

Ixxi. 

Long months, one bacon-rind and Hope his sole 
Support, in lonely canon, ^'diggings" muddy; 

He ran it through from his first prospect-hole 
To that proud moment when the main ore-body 

That underlay the elusive "lead" and "seam," 

Disclosed its wealth, beyond the wildest dream" 

Ixxii. 

Of Avarice! warmed with his theme he cries, — 
Pointing a window that looked to the west — 

'Behind those snow-clad peaks an tden lies. 
Embowered in quaking-asp and pine; caressed 

By zephyrs — here all nature smiles sublime; 

O, fly with me, sweet, to this favored clim(b)!" 



Ixxiii. 

But Nita heard him wearily, as one 

Wool-gathering in a bible-house; although 

It sems to me that she had better done 

To *'work" the Reuben for his surplus "dough." 

— She scorned his silver, knowing Governor Waite 

Would shortly sow it broadcast through the State. 

Ixxiv. 

She was too young to marry yet, she told him. 

(Her hopes belied this — but the first excuse 
Comes handiest;) the answer over-bowled him — 

He had not dreamt his offer she'd refuse. 
Crestfallen, he left. 

— Roused from a reverie 
By a brownie of the human family. 

Ixxv, 

Familiarly termed ''kid" was Nita not 
Long after; tapping timidly at the door 

He entered, and deposed that he had brought 
A note from Harold. It contained no more 

Than — "he hoped she was well, not seeing her i 

Tendered his services, and so — yours truly." 

Ixxvi. 

In view of what transpired, 'twas a plank 
Thrown to the struggling mariner; for lo, 

Th' rejected one was somewhat of a crank, 
And carried to le pere "his tale of woe." 

What, such a splendid offer to repel! 

The girl was mad — and his displeasure fell 



Ixxvii- 

On her more rigorous than it had erewhile. 

Abriged of liberty, permitted now 
To see no one, what wonder that the trial 

Proved to severe — She would tell Harold how 
They'd turned against her. While the twilight's flitting 
(An author's privilege) let's see what she's written. 

Ixxviii. 

"My Only Dear One" — thus the letter ran — 
"Your note was welcome as the flowers in May. 

O, how I cried to think, ere I began 

This, we can't be together! All the day 

I've worried over it. What in the world, 

Dear, makes me love you as I do? — impearled 

Ixxix. 

"Is your sweet face forever in my heart. 

O, that tonight my lips might press upon 
The lips I dearly love. Ah, who shall part 

Us, with your arms to shield. I'd rather run 
On Death than live away from you. But know 
That Im in trouble, can not come-and-go. 

Ixxx. 

"(Oh, dear, its just more than a girl can stand) 
My parents seek to force me to a match 

That I detest; and here — cruel command! — 
Im prisoned till submitting. Let them watch 

Me as they will, to you I'll still be true; 

And now pet, this is what Im going to do — 



Ixxxi. 

"To run off to the one I love the best! 

— What you think of my plan, without delay 
Please write me, — but, (since so much I've confessed) 

You must say yes, Im coming anyu ay. 
Were they but real! — I send you many kisses. 
Nita to her darling Harold." — No P. S. es. 

XXXXXX X XX XX 

Ixxxii. 

O, erring woman. To the little god 

Her deity, she sacrifices all! 
— 'Twas this inspired that hi^h-born dame (who trod 

In wedded paths — the story's from the Hill,) 
To raise a senator, her power to prove; 

And "Silver Ed" we owe to woman's love! 

Ixxxiii. 

The letter written, how was she to send it? 

The cidevant Mercury was playing near, 
And beckoning from the window she extended 

The missive — "Would he carry it for her?" 
(Bribed with three packs of "coffin nails" — the price.) 
"Sure thing he would" — and starts off in a trice. 

Ixxxiv. 

Harold received it safely — kisses too, 

Though these preferred he in the "original package;" 
Wrote back: "Fear not, Til see you safely through, 

Make up at once your necessary baggage; 
I'll be on hand tomorrow ni^ht." — Then got 
A rope ladder, and formed his plot. 



Ixxxv. 

Big- with the fate of Nita the night's come. 

'Twas rather muggy, as the English say, 
Elopement favoring. In Juanita's home 

Reigned quietness at ten, — one Httle ray 
Of starlight through the utter darkness fell, 
And seemed to whisper — ''Bless you, I won't tell !" 

Ixxxvi. 

The ladder placed, with many soft alarms 
Nita descended, her heart beating like 

Sunfish affrighted — fell in Harold's arms. 

Then joy o'erflowed Convention's hindering dyke. 
(I needed this word, the rhyme to complete; 

It's not a good one — but poetic feet 

Ixxxvii. 

Must be observed.) When all was made secure. 

The lovers fled away into the nigfht 
To Harold's lodgings. As yet she was pure, — 

Yes, absolutely pure, as Pri — ^to cite 
A brand of Baking Powder; which invention 
(Not being paid to puff it) I shan't mention. 

Ixxxviii. 

"This too will pass away." Now Harold leads 
His fair companion to a terraced pile, 
His temporary quarters; they must needs 

Go in, their feelings to compose a while. 
With pleasing tumults Nita's were oppressed, 
The sylph that guarded Honor charmed to rest. 



Ixxxix. 

Knt'ring- the room, she saw with glad surprise 
A rich collation, Harold's thoughtfulness 

For her provided; dainty wines on ice. 

These were discussed, with piquancy no less 

Because of the night's doings. 'Twas an hour 

To balance years of sorrow that might lower. 

xc. 

Juanita's face was mantling with the joy 

That woman feels, when her loved one's beside. 

She rose impulsively^-"0, you dear boy!" 

And with an angel smile — forgot was pride — 

Her soft arms clung him in a sweet embrace, 

The while her presence perfumed all the place. 

xci. 

A strange light shone in Harold's eyes; he said, 

"Come rest yourself, my darling, you look wan;" 
And drew her unresisting to the bed. 
Her very soul was his. 

The maid undone 
Grov^^s very weak ere warming — ours, nathless, 
Gave herself up to perfect happiness. 

xcii. 

I purposed here minutely to indite 

The fair's sensations, pierced by knightly lance; 
But 'tis a delicate theme — the details might 

Prove spicier than the dear public wants. [time. 
Yet those will know, who've "been there, many's th( 
Just what to think, without help of this rhyme. 



xcni. 

They passed the night in transports till gray dawn, 
In '^ecstacies too fierce to last" for aye; 

And not till Harold from her side had gone, 
Did Nita miss the orange-blossoms that array 

The usual bride, when Hymen's not turned traitor; 

But 'twas all in the play, — they would come later. 

xciv. 

Some happy weeks fled by — and chivalry 
Itself was Harold still: but Love has wings, 

And so mast use them. I,n^3::rcepLibl/ 
A change came over him, in many things 

She noted (to say small would be mi sea in 4) 

That showed Cupid's barometer was falling. 

xcv. 

At opera-bo u fife, where Mirth ruled all the scene, 
He smiled not when she did; and when arose 

The lofty diapason, — rapt serene 

Her soul in blissful realms until its close — 

He gave his plaudits not. and thus bereft her 

Of needed sympathy. One day he left her. 

xcvi. 

We can't be always on the mountain-top: 
Keaction came; Nita's affections were 

Like some drycreek, when all its sources stop. — 
So passion's Clo ad-burst had but left in her 

Its barren sands, where lingered yet o-ie flower, — 

Thit mournful tenderness, hir sex's dower. 



XCVll. 

She's living in a trunk now, as girls say. 

In furnished rooms, — the neighborhood's not chic: 
Has many friends; is drifting the Burnt Way, 

Whose cue — Come in, come in! it is to speak; 
Whose creed is (though I won't vouch for its ethics), 
This world — the next one — then the pyrotechnics. 

xcviii. 
My tale is done. 

— The boding nightwinds moan 
With eerie sound at the casement; to Nox tell 
Their ancient rune. The greatest Mystery known 

To Man, Life's secret they perchance reveal! 
Speak, messengers of ^olus! — and close 
I listen. No reply. Then — Adios! 



THE END. 



THE COLORADO PILGRIM. 



'Twas a pilgrim wight in worn-out shoon, 

That "drilled into Denver one afternoon. 

His tattered garments and antique "roof" 

Of a tough experience gave ample proof. 

While the crowd at the Arcade wondering gazed, 

But its 'josh" the stranger never fazed. 

**Are you any good?" was all he said. 
A sport who'd a winning made nodded his head. 
Whereat the crowd to the bar adjourned, 
And soon his tale of the traveler learned. 

'*Just a month ago," — thus his story ran, 

"My trip from Salt Lake I began; 
Hopeful I started, but ere the drill ended, 
These bro^ans with baling wire I mended. 
Walking the ties at midnight when 
Fired off the trucks by the railroad men. 
In the lonely desert where the Book Cliffs rise. 
The awful'st solitude under the skies. 
Not a bird nor coyote in that desolate land, 
And no green thing grows in the shifting sand. 
But I hurried on. though sore afraid. 
Grand Junction the next stop I made. 
The farmers were kind, and never denied 
To s^ive me a "hand-out" when I applied. 
God bless the tender heart of woman! 
She'll ne'er refuse a starving human. 
The shadows of night were falling damp, 
When I struck a deserted mining camp. 



Empty the miner's cabin stood, 

The owner had left the place for good. 

To its wild first state the camp resigns, 

Nature's mournful music, the wind in the pines. 

The moonbeams glint on rusted steel, 

And faintly the deep shafts reveal. 

Where lies the snow, to Heaven-up-piled, 

Broods the lone Spirit of the Wild; 

And comes at intervals, the wail 

Of timber wolf borne on the gale. 

With spirits depressed I wandered on, 

Until I came to Leadville town. 

Here I met a Relief Camp refugee, 

We traveled together for company. 

A haystack formed our nightly cot, 

Our breakfast at the brook we got, 

I left him 'grafting' by the way, 

And came in on the Santa Fe." 

He closed, and to reward the knave, 

The crowd a "set down/ at the Maverick gave. 



L' ALLEGRO IN THE HILLS. 



Autumns tints with summer blending, 
Send the prairie schooners wendiiig 
Parkward; in wild swale or hollow 
The campfires gleam, and we may follow. 
Mark climbing, the pale blue columbine, 
In its rocky lodge near timber line 
A lovely flower that oft unseen, 
The Oreads weave to crown their queen. 
Now mountain mist the trail enshrouds, 
And peaks commercing with the clouds. 
Grim stony sentinels of Eld, 
That lon^ these argent fields have held 
In fee, with countless "leads" and "seams" 
That haunt the miner in his dreams. 
Thus on until the "schooner" stops 
By the ^old-tinted a^pen copse. 
Then down where naught the eye descries. 
Save one lone tourist of the ties. 
He greets our hail with nonchalance, 
And orives the usual "song and dance:" 
'Say. Pardner, ye ain't c^ot a quarter handy 
Ye cud It t me have. Me name is Sandy; 
Had a job up thar at Hill To^ Cnxssin' 
Bur qu't it — not on account of the bossin' 
And the Day was all right. Then why did I 

leave? 
'Cause I cudn't find anything to breathe!" 

Still onward 'til the goal be won, 



Where rolls the rapid Gunnison, 
In lonely grandeur, time-dtfying. 
Huge boulders in the torrent lying, 
Form many a sheltered little bay 
Where the water-turkey loves to play; 
The chipmunk shy its sole companion. 
The frowning walls of the Black Canon 
Look over, and the eagle's aery shows 
On the beetling pinion's topmost boughs. 
'Mid scenes like these, rarely-trodden ground, 
The tonic of wildness may be found. 



UNES WRITTEN IN THE OLD CITY CE/VIETERY. 



High art thou placed, O consecrated spot! 

From Maine to Alabama 
In the new world or the old, there exists not 

A grander panorama. 

So eazing from thy summit, Taylor spoke, 

None question that decision; 
The mountain background — plains like ocean vast, 

A glorious vision! 

Fit spot for meditation formed; and yet 

Man's greed hath soiled 
Even holy ground; view here the cenotoph 

And tomb despoiled. 



Canst read on headstone gray the story brief — 

Father and son, 
Here sleeping out the Sabbath of the dead, 

Life's ramble done. 

With tired hands folded o'er her aching breast, 

Tnere rests a mother. 
The harsh world stayed too long her falt'ring steps. 

Ne'er such another. 

Peaceful the scene and quiet all, save note — 

A coronach impromptu 
Of wild bird flitting o'er some lonely grave; 

'Tis what we all must come to. 

Oppressive thought! that hopes must shortly lie 

Beneath the furrow. 
My wandering steps the rabbit hears, and darts 

Into his burrow. 

Now twilight's messenger, the night hawk, rises, 

Chanting a vesper hymn. 
Learn thou the lesson that all nature teaches. 

And bide thy time. 



THE CATTLEMEN»S YARN. 



Night on the Little Mussleshell; 

That beaver-haunted stream, 
Where the lone trapper keeps his fearful watch, 

And the sands have a golden gleam. [from 
'Tis the Blac< -foot reserve. Strong sounds come 

The dim horror of the wood, 
And the Northern lights look coldly down 

On the Selkirk solitude. 
But hark! the hoofstroke of a horse! 

The Montana stag in his lair 
Starts from his slumber as the clink of steel 

Rings out on the shuddering air. 
Now he comes into view, and his rider is seen, 

Plying the quirt and spur, 
Fa^t-gallopino, soon is he lost in the darkness, 

Leaving the glen all a stir. 
But scarce has it lapsed into silence again, 

When lo, a fresh tumult is on, 
Two horsemen, fine-mounted, come riding hard 

On the track of the first that had gone! 
Their gun's gripp'd for action. What deed 
had he done, 

Whom vengefully they pursue? 
Overtaken at last, did his life expiate 

For that of the comrade he slew? 
It will never be known. The silent stars 

They guard their secret well. [course 
And the hours of night speed their wonted 

On the banks of the Mussleshell. 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO THE GREAT RIVER. 



Lla the Fall of 1892 the writer formed one of a party of three who went from 
Denver to Kansas 'Jity, wh3re ac ibin-b >at was built, size 30x10, in which we suc- 
cessfully navisrated tbe Missouri ani Mississippi rivers, going as far south as 
1 he St. Francis river, ArKaa^^as, wh -re the winter was passed. The "doctor" re- 
ferred to was a harmless sort of '"river pirate" waom we encountered at Cairo, 
111. He was mentally unbilanced, bat labored under the delusion that nature 
had designed him for an autaor. He held iu MSS. quite a number of his perform- 
ances—regular night-mard§, in fact, one novel notably so, entitled "Oscazel.'* 
He, too, witii Mike his hencnman, was floating down the Great River] 

One autumn morn we left K. C, 

Our starting out was sunny, 
And merrily the time passed on 

While we had luck and money. 
To lead a shanty boatman's life 

Who would not brave the fury 
Of winds and waters w Id and rough, 

Upon the old Missouri? 
Had favoring gale?, ne'er ceased to blow 

Down stream from dawn till set of sun, 
And cheered my discontented mind 

With solace of a good days run; 
Had not the "blues" companioned me 

Through dark hours of wind-bound affliction, — 
Perchance then t/iou wouldst not have earned 

My parting malediction! 
"Fond" recollection still will dwell 

On our bold foraging expeditions, [changed 

When things portable, "murphies" and wheat owners 

The pale moon giving of light a sufficience. 
How coolly once, at midnight hour, 

Without a pause or tremor. 
We took on board our apples — barreled — 

Like any other steamer! 



The barnyard grouse had to roost high, 

And hogs came at their peril nigh. 
Pig-oo-ey through the woods went humming 

When the natives saw our craft a coming. 
Past "tow-head" island, point and bar, 

The wild geese watched us floating. 
Rose many a dismal anserine squawk, 

When our scatter guns began to talk. 
Came Irom rail-fence or cornfield far, 

The hail through thick Boetian air — 
*'Just travelin' about or goin' somewhar?" — 

A Missourian denoting. 
The squirrel from his arboreal lair, 
Barked as he saw our frugal care 

Of walnuts on the roof a- drying; 
For us the paw-paws ripening grew 

(Missouri's banana), 'simmons too. 
And if we cared to "jugging" go 

The "channel cat" and '•buffalo" 
Afforded sport and change of fare; 

To gastronomies satisfying. 
Of mammoth size: I mind me well, 

When overboard one day there fell 
A goose's pelt; like bird in air 

'Twas gone ere scarce it touched the water 

From side to side our boat did totter, 
Rocked in the waves the passing "gar" 

Left in his wake (To this I'll swear.) 
And lanternless. those nightly "runs" 

Are still in memory cherished: 
The Grand Tower Rock and its whirling pool 

Where the bridal party perished. 



Viewed rightly, tiiis to the groom had been 

A kindly dispensation. 
Who tells what ills awaited him 

Had he livc^d in the marriage station. 
The "Doctor" comes — inspired loon! 

His "book" it was a "knocker." 
He's either now in his "Island Home" 

Or in Davy Jones' Locker. 
And trusty Mike, all dangers past. 

Which the boatman's life environ, 
The chances are is holding up 

Some Mississippi siren! 
Full sweet the sound at evening's close, 

When the violin's speaking melody rose; 
And "Rolling River," "Old Zip Coon," 

"Rich Man. "'^" Rye Straw," "Bonnie Doon," 
"Prettiest little girl in the County, O!" 

"Looked in the glass and found it so," 
Went echoiner o'er the deep. 

Past waving fields of cotton 
We drifted; all we thought on 

To see St. Francis sweep . 
Into the parent stream. 

Hurrah! the cane-brakes now uncover 
His waters bluish gleam; — 

Our long, lone "float" was over. 
A simple race the swamper folk, 

With taste for story and broad joke. 
Content their humble state to fill, 

And let the world wag as it will. 
They give the interpretation free, 

Of the owl's note heard in the cypress tree, 



As (and who knows that it be not true) 

*Who cooks for you! who cooks for you!" 
No more along thy steep, cut banks 

Will swiftly glide our vessel; 
No more by willow-crowded shore 

We'll hear the red bird's whistle. 
No more will anxious thoughts intrude 

As rocked in our rude slumber, 
To sandbar's side the boat was tied, 

And shy of spar-pole timber — 
Lashed by November gales she would 

By **bumps" give timely warning, 
That if our cable gave o'er night 

Where we would be next morning. 
'Tis past — but still will fancy weave 

Its visions of our trip forever; 
And rapt in that sweet southern clime, 

Where cold and storms come never — 
'Till our shadowy barque, with her crew of three. 

Lies moored on Suwanee River! 



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